


the last test and proof

by devviepuu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 3b divergence, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence Post 3x11 "Going Home", F/M, Idiots in Love, True Love's Kiss, We All Need Years Of Therapy But Let's Try Sex Instead, introspective as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devviepuu/pseuds/devviepuu
Summary: True Love’s Kiss.Emma almost never let herself say it, keeping the phrase tucked away with other uncomfortable words like chimera and Tinker Bell and Mom and Dad, and she didn’t say it now, either, but she thought it.She could think of nothing else.True Love’s Kiss.The only magic strong enough to break any curse.(five things emma and hook should probably talk about, and the one thing they do.)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 113
Kudos: 136
Collections: The Great Captain Swan No-Curse Renaissance





	1. the curse that wasn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [profdanglais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/gifts).



Okay.

What happened was this:

There was a curse. Massive, billowing plumes of goddamn purple smoke--Emma had seen pictures, but the storybook had not done them justice. The clouds were ominous, the clouds were terrifying, the clouds were headed _straight for them_ , spilling out from the Wishing Well right down Main Street to where they would push up against the town line.

They only had a few minutes left and Emma felt every second ticking by and her mind was blank except for the single thought that this was _not supposed to happen_. Maybe she’d been hanging out too much with her kid, The Heart of the Truest Believer and all of that, but she _wanted_ to believe--and they’d gotten him back from fucking Peter Pan, hadn’t they? They’d flown on a pirate ship with a sentient shadow and put a magical-freaking-barrier around his heart so that a demon couldn’t steal it.

They’d figured out the evil plan, they’d done all of the things.

All of the things.

And still, this was how it was going to end, with another curse and everyone separated, again, and no happy endings, _again_.

Emma was feeling that, all of it, as the seconds ticked by and the smoke got closer and she could hear the screams in town, Grumpy chief among them--”It’s coming, it’s coming”--like they didn’t already know that. Like they couldn’t see it.

Her parents were watching her and it was just--it was so _stupid_ , all of this best chance bullshit, but now she had to make a choice about _her_ kid, the choice she never got to make last time, to keep him safe because she could and that made it not much of a choice at all. But she was going to miss her parents, and it would be worse now than before, now that she knew she _had_ parents, parents that wanted her and loved her even if she hadn’t quite relaxed enough to let them in. Henry was in their arms, one last hug from his grandparents, from Regina, and Emma stood by the door of the Beetle and watched them. One last goodbye to Neal and there was a sliver of her that she wasn’t proud of that looked at him and thought--just a little bit--good riddance.

She’d been right in the Echo Cave. It would be easier to have him and all of it behind her forever. Closure she’d never gotten and now it was coming with a bigger price than she’d ever imagined.

She didn’t look at Hook. At _Killian._

She couldn’t.

He was looking at her, though, eyes drilling straight into her skull, windows into his goddamn soul as she saw everything she’d never let him say to her spilling out. He opened his mouth to speak and Emma had to brace herself.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

It wasn’t what she expected him to say and that was--it was good. Too many emotions wouldn’t help the situation. There was no going back anyway. No undoing the things that had happened--and hadn’t happened--between them. No more apologies or regrets.

So why was she disappointed?

She smiled at him and ignored the tears tickling the corners of her eyes and then he said, “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

She’d been right about this, too; it was easier when he didn’t say anything and just let his eyes spill all of his secrets, because that _hurt_. It had been less than a week since he’d given her the bean, since they’d been enemies, and she didn’t want to think about how it had happened but he had become her--

 _Something_.

He was _something_. And he _was_ hers--her rock, her friend, her person. Emma wasn’t someone who believed that people could belong to each other but she knew if she asked him he’d agree, even if he wouldn’t have a week ago.

 _Until I met you_.

Regina pulled her aside because of course there were things the Evil Queen hadn’t felt ready to reveal yet--no rush or anything--and said, “When the curse washes over us, it will send us back. Nothing will be left behind, including your memories.”

Emma looked at her parents. At Neal.

“Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won’t ever have existed. These last years will be gone from both your memories.”

She looked, finally, at Killian, and couldn’t breathe.

“Now we’ll go back to being just stories again.”

She. Couldn’t. Breathe.

His eyes were on her, only on her, as she struggled to get air in her lungs and _fuck it_ \--Emma took two steps forward and grabbed him just like she’d done in Neverland and this time he didn’t wait to react, to kiss her back; he was all in, a drowning man looking for one last gasp of oxygen. She arched into him and he stole her breath and thoughts and words, his lips and tongue promising everything they could never have.

Emma could taste the salt on her tongue and wasn’t sure if it was from her tears or his.

She didn’t think. She didn’t _notice_ , not until she pulled herself away and started walking toward the car, reaching blindly for Henry and he wasn’t there.

Panicking, Emma opened her eyes and saw--nothing. No purple smoke. No empty forest. Just the town line sign exactly where it had been, the dwarves’ painted line exactly as it was, everyone staring in strained disbelief, joy mixed with confusion on their faces and Emma said to Regina: “What did you do?”

Regina raised her eyebrows the way she did, her arms wrapped tightly around their son. “What did I do, Miss Swan?” The _are you fucking kidding me_ was strongly implied so Emma ignored it, turning to her parents and breaking out into a little run as she, for the first time, hurled herself at them. “Mom,” she said. “Dad.”

There was her father’s hand against the back of her neck and her mother reaching to pull Emma’s forehead close enough to kiss. “You did it,” Mary Margaret whispered. “You saved us.”

Emma stepped back, wiping her tears away. She looked at her father, who shrugged his shoulders; he looked like she’d hit him with another dreamshade-tipped arrow.

Neal wouldn’t meet her eyes, but then again--he’d always been a coward.

Hook-- _Killian_ \--had his fingers pressed up against his lips as he stared at her, his blue eyes unblinking. She’d done a number on his hair when she’d kissed him--

When she’d--

When--

Oh.

_Oh._

\--

 _True Love’s Kiss_.

Emma almost never let herself say it, keeping the phrase tucked away with other uncomfortable words like chimera and Tinker Bell and Mom and Dad, and she didn’t say it now, either, but she thought it.

She could think of nothing else.

 _True Love’s Kiss_.

The only magic strong enough to break any curse.

\--

The party was at Granny’s and apparently it had already started. It had been ninety seconds, tops, since their cancelled departure and the dwarves were already gathering at the diner.

Okay.

There was something comforting about it, anyway, since that seemed to be the routine and it was better than a mob spilling out into the streets, which was what happened after the last curse broke--after Emma broke it. With _True Love’s Kiss_.

Granny had a bar and kept it well stocked, so there was that, too.

 _True Love’s Kiss_.

But--the first problem was her car, which she wasn’t going to leave on the side of the road. No, that was a lie, but she _did_ need to move it and Emma kind of thought Hook--Killian--would volunteer to accompany her, maybe with a smile or a raised eyebrow or that thing he did with his tongue or--anything, really. Anything to--

To--not _that_ , not yet; at least, not in the back of a Volkswagen, which was pretty damn low on her list of comfortable places, to say nothing of the fact of Henry’s conception.

But.

Well, they needed to talk, right? About--things.

She didn’t know.

And he didn’t volunteer. He just--he looked at her.

And in his eyes, the windows--they were closed.

Henry climbed into the car before she even got the sentence out, Mary Margaret maneuvering into the backseat with him as David settled himself into the front with a look on his face that left no doubt that he, at least, had a lot of things he wanted to say.

One glance at Mary Margaret, though, and he was silent. Epic-level Jedi mind tricks coming from the back seat as her mother stared her father down in the rearview mirror while Henry chattered for the entire five minutes it took them to go from the town line to Main Street and Emma couldn’t remember a single word he’d said.

\--

**Things Emma and Hook Haven’t Talked About Yet:**

1 - Neal  
2 - The time she’d left him with a giant  
3 - The time he’d left her in a cell  
4 - Milah  
5 - True. Love’s. Kiss.


	2. neal.

_**Neal.** _

God. Neal was just--

Jesus fucking Christ, Neal was the _worst_.

He walked in with Hook--with _Killian_ \--and Emma couldn’t help it, she was basically checking them for bruises or whatever and it’s not--it’s not like she wanted them to be fighting.

Over her.

She _did not_ want them fighting over her, hard pass on the performative macho bullshit, thanks, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair if Killian got to punch Neal first when Emma was really the one who had earned the right. Eleven months in a goddamn cell and another eleven years after that had given her plenty of time to think and at least, if nothing else, _that_ was behind her. Forever.

But the look on Neal’s face suggested that he hadn’t quite accepted it yet and Emma, she looked at her parents and looked at _Henry_ and yeah, okay, she had to talk to Neal.

Emma looked at Killian and he--he _nodded_.

What. The. Fuck.

He _nodded,_ as if she needed his fucking _permission_ and then he gestured, and turned away but not in time to hide the little twitch he did with his fingers when he was nervous, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger and spinning the ring there with literal centuries of practice. Emma exhaled. Okay. Okay.

But first, Neal.

“Seriously, Emma?”

No.

Emma didn’t--she didn’t _do_ feelings, or at least, she didn’t like expressing them, and this--this was _Neal’s_ fault. But Killian, he just--he _knew_ her, open book or whatever he wanted to call it, and he didn’t question it, or question her. She remembered how they met--she’ll never fucking forget it--and the beanstalk and the look in his eyes, _the look you get when you’ve been left alone_ and how even then, there was _something_. Maybe it hadn’t started off great but now it was--

It was--

_When I win your heart, Emma--_

So.

Yes.

“Yes, okay?” Emma practically shouted. “Not like I need _your_ permission, Mr. I-Was-Engaged-To-Someone-Who-Shot-Me. _Six days ago_. Six days, Neal, after eleven years of you being gone and then you were _dead_ and I had to deal with that.”

“In six days?” He was angry, too. Practically shouting. Emma hoped Henry wasn’t listening.

“A lot happened in six days,” Emma said, suddenly tired. The bean. Her father, her kid. The kiss--the Other Kiss, the one that should have been a warning because she had felt it, felt him, all the way down to her toes as if she could fly and that--

That was probably magic, too.

Emma snorted a laugh that was maybe a hair away from being a cry. “I love you,” she said. To Neal. She was saying it to _Neal_ who didn’t deserve to hear it but his father _died_ today and she needed to get this shit off of her chest and _out of her life_ and be in a place where she could look at the father of her kid without wanting to throw up or throw _things_ or laugh-cry. “I _loved_ you. And you left. And that is never going to be okay. I am _never_ going to be okay with that. I was a _kid_ , Neal. You took advantage of my love, and my _trust_ , and I literally have not been able to trust another person since then.”

Until Hook. Killian.

“Killian came back,” she said.

“He didn’t come back _for you_ ,” Neal snapped, and if this was supposed to be his parting shot, his killing blow, wow, did _that_ backfire because--

“I know,” she said, and that’s when she smiled. “He came back for Henry. To _help_. Because Henry is _your_ kid. Because _he_ wanted to _do the right fucking thing_. Be a part of something, for once, instead of running away.”

“You’re a runner too, Em,” Neal said. “You know it, and I know it.”

“Maybe I am,” Emma said. “But maybe this time _I_ want to be a part of something.”

She did. She _did_ , and it wasn’t this conversation. Emma turned and scanned the room, looking for Hook. For Killian. But he was--

Gone.

And Emma’s heart, it did something painful, contracting or maybe exploding until she saw Granny, saw the old woman’s wink and the way she tilted her head toward the back and the sign that said RESTROOMS.

Very romantic.

But Emma gathered it up inside herself, pulled together the _yes_ and the _when I win your heart_ and the _be a part of something_ and the magic she could maybe sort of still feel tingling in her lips and took a deep breath and went to find him.

 _Killian_. She went to find Killian.

So.

Here’s what _didn’t_ happen:

There was no gentle, reassuring kiss. No smiles, no hand-holding, no words of any kind and certainly none of the ones Emma preferred to keep locked away.

_True. Love’s. Kiss._

There was no moment of exquisite pining and connection as they leaned against the wall, him in the restroom and her in the hallway, their hands lined up, their postures mirrored, as they felt Feelings.

Instead, there was rum proffered and accepted; a long, slow pull and a long, even gaze. The windows of his eyes were open again as he watched her, hungry. Another pull--and that time, she watched _him_ , watched his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, as she reached for him and let her finger follow its path.

There was the countertop for the sink, which had the right height and the right angle as he--

Well, it was better than the back of a Volkswagen.

It was quick and dirty and hot, something secret, something forbidden, and how had they never done this in Neverland when it had been there simmering between them since the Other Kiss, since the beanstalk, since the handkerchief and the swordfight-- _when I jab you with my sword you’ll feel it_ \--and god, _god,_ did she feel it.. A fuck-your-Feelings kind of fuck, a get-it-out-of-our-systems kind of fuck, a holy-shit-what-the-fuck-just- _happened_ kind of fuck.

It was messy. Clumsy.

It was _perfect_ : every touch a promise.

And then--

“Hook,” she whispered. “Killian--”

Something flickered. Something _broke_.

The windows closed.

“Swan. Emma--” he stopped. “I--”

“Seriously?”

“Apologies,” he said. “For my rudeness.”

He left. She watched.

Yeah. That happened.


	3. the time she left him with a giant.

**The Time She Left Him With a Giant.**

One in the morning. Emma was still watching the ceiling.

Two in the morning. Her eyes were dry. Open. Each time she closed them she could see the purple smoke, the way he looked at her. Each time she closed them she could feel the warmth, the light (the rainbow fucking light); she could feel his lips and his tongue and his fingers and his beard. The orgasm(s). The _Feelings_.

Emma wasn’t used to feelings, she knew this, it was not a mystery to her. She was strong, she was indifferent, fucking rolling with the fucking waves.

But.

It was weighing on her heart, screaming in time with her heartbeat. _Apologies_.

What was he apologizing for?

What the fuck was even happening?

 _True. Love’s. Kiss_.

Emma had no one to talk to.

(That was a lie.)

She just--she chose not to. Maybe that should change. Be a part of something, et cetera.

Okay.

Except--

“Neal does have a point,” her mother said. “About the running.”

Whoa. “Whoa,” Emma said.

“I mean, you did leave Hook on the beanstalk.” A pause, a sip of coffee. “And in New York.”

“Yeah. But, Mary Margaret--” Emma gulped, swallowed “--Mom, I mean, you have to understand how it was with Neal. I had my reasons.”

“I’d like that, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, her eyes wide and her cheeks pink. “I’d like to understand." She put the coffee cup down on the little kitchen island and reached for Emma’s hand, pulling it into her own. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

Emma gulped again. Looked at her mother’s hand wrapped around her own and what the hell, _try something new, darling_ and all of that, so:

Emma told her. About the car. About the cons, the hotel rooms. Tallahassee and the watches. About giving birth chained to a bed in a prison hospital ward. The story spilled out--all the things about herself that Emma always let her mother assume but never know, because she still wanted her parents to be proud of her, to see the best of her, to _want_ her. To not see the mess she had made of her life, to not think that maybe they’d been better off without her. Because she was still _angry_ at them for the choices they’d made. She’d trusted Neal because she’d wanted someone to trust her, to love her, to put her first and it had ended _badly_ and she’d looked into Killian’s eyes on that first day by the beanstalk and felt Feelings and saw all of it happening all over again.

Just another person she shouldn’t trust.

Just another person who would betray her.

 _Emma_ was the only person who would put herself first and she couldn’t take the chance she was wrong about that.

When she finished, Mary Margaret was crying. Both of them were, Mary Margaret still clutching her hand and Emma had _her_ hand on top of her mother’s and it was, for the first time, a Moment. A mother-daughter moment. The coffee was cold and gross but Emma took a sip anyway as her mother wiped her eyes and straightened up.

“So what now?” Mary Margaret asked.

 _True. Love’s. Kiss_.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Emma said. “Neal and I are over--”

“Obviously.”

“--and Hook and I, well, you _saw_ what happened. Everyone saw.” Only Emma hoped everyone hadn’t seen what had happened in the restroom. That was--

“You and dad, like, literally walked off into the sunset and got married. After.”

 _True. Love’s. Kiss_.

\--that was complicated.

 _Apologies_.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mary Margaret said, making a noise. It was--it was like a _mom_ noise. Like an _I’m not mad I’m disappointed_ kind of thing. “That’s not what happened and you know it. Our road after the curse was almost as bumpy as the one that led to it. And I think I know you well enough--I hope I do--to know that’s not what you want. Not yet. Maybe not ever?”

Emma looked up at her mother, her eyebrows raised, and shrugged.

“What did Killian say?”

“We haven’t, um, talked,” Emma said.

“But last night you--” Mary Margaret paused. “Oh.”

Emma tried to hide her blush and--well, she failed. Totally, if Mary Margaret’s pink cheeks and shy smile were anything to go by, like Snow-freaking-White just wanted her baby girl--her princess--to live happily ever after with the pirate, married or unmarried or fucking in the restrooms of the diner for all eternity.

Just be happy, whatever that meant.

But then--

Emma’s smile faded; Mary Margaret’s expression shifted, slowly, comprehension coloring her features.

Mary Margaret took a breath and exhaled it, slowly. “Emma, you know how you have those--”

 _Yes_ , for fuck’s sake. She knew. She _knew_ , okay? WALLS. She had them.

“Seriously? You think I don’t know that? I literally just finished explaining to you--”

“Let me finish.” Mary Margaret made the noise again, the mom noise. “You have these walls, but everyone in Storybrooke has lost something. Not just you.”

Ouch. Thanks, mom. Could have gotten that from Regina, but, whatever. Okay.

“Neal--”

“I’m not talking about Neal,” Mary Margaret said. “You need to make peace with him. We all do--though I’m not looking forward to having this conversation with your father.”

Emma snorted.

“I’m talking about Hook. About Killian. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“You _did_ leave him, Emma. You had your reasons, and a lot has changed since then.”

 _True. Love’s. Kiss_.

“I’m just saying that you’re not the only one who might have, um, reservations.” Her mother shrugged, eloquently. It was the gesture of a Queen explaining something that should be obvious. (There was that word again.) Gently-laid breadcrumbs for a populace--or a daughter--who did not want to have things explained to them. All of that was fine and dandy except that Emma really, really did not like having her mother explain things, whether it was ogres or giants or pixie dust or Feelings. Especially when she was right--and she _was_ , she was--and when it was _obvious_ , all of the times she’d seen it spilling out of him, reflected in the windows of his eyes: the pain. The hesitation. The fear--of not being _enough_ , not worth helping, not worth trusting.

Until--

 _Be a part of something_.

The fear of being not worth even a goodbye but then she’d looked at him on the town line as he waited, as he said nothing even though they might never have seen each other again and she was the one who’d been afraid. Who’d missed him, even though he wasn’t gone yet.

_When I win your heart, Emma--_

And he had.

“Mom!” Henry called to her as Emma stood in the sunlight on Main Street, blinking, needing to wash away the leftover cold coffee still lingering in her mouth. They walked into the diner as Emma tried to ignore Granny and her lascivious grin--wait, how good was a werewolf’s hearing, exactly?--but she couldn’t ignore Hook sitting on a stool at the edge of the counter, especially when the bell rang over the door and she looked forward and he looked up and their eyes met. There was a beat but then he smiled, softly, tentatively.

Emma waved. Tentatively.

Henry, who was much smarter than an eleven-year-old had any right to be, looked from Emma to Hook and back again and said, “Why don’t we invite Killian to eat with us?”

“What?” Emma looked down at him and his serious face and it wasn’t what she expected, to have her kid trying to set her up with Captain Hook. Shit, maybe he _had_ heard her and Neal fighting last night, or maybe he just wanted her to be happy. “Sure you’re okay with that, kid?”

Henry smiled. “I just want you to be happy,” he said.

Huh.

Emma’s eyes were back on him--on _Killian_ \--and she cocked her head and crooked her finger at him, her smile widening as she did it. There was a dirty joke in there and she knew it and he _definitely_ knew it because she saw his jaw muscle twitch and his eyes light up before _his_ smile grew, wide and bright and less hesitant as he slid from the stool and walked toward Emma and Henry.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he said.

That was it, nothing else, and they just--they stared at each other for a couple of seconds, grinning stupidly, Emma could feel it on her face and she was almost sure she heard Granny start swearing as she watched them until Ho-- _Killian_ cleared his throat and said to Henry, “I trust you’re feeling well, lad?”

Henry shrugged, like having his heart pulled out of his body and getting his soul transposed with a demon’s was all in a day’s work or whatever, and all of that was _before_ The Curse and the Breaking Of The Curse. “I’m okay,” he said. “Can I have chocolate milk with my cereal?”

Emma laughed. “How about some lunch? Maybe some protein?”

Henry just deadeyed her because he totally knew she was going to order grilled cheese so she said, “Fine, kid. Whatever you want. Just don’t tell Regina, okay?”

“What are you going to have?” she asked H--Killian, and his entire face did this thing where it _softened_ and some of the tension he was still carrying in his shoulders dissipated because she hadn’t--because she wasn't mad at him, or something.

They’d spent months as adversaries because of _her_ , because she’d left him and couldn’t trust herself and then-- _six days_ \--six days where everything shifted underneath their feet, constantly, and an epic fuck wasn’t going to fix or undo all of that in spite of _True Love’s Kiss_ and Emma needed to take a goddamn breath and just--yeah. She watched his fist clench and unclench under the table and as she reached for his arm--as she _let herself_ reach for his arm, trailed her hand down to his wrist and wrapped her fingers around the cool metal of his hook. He stiffened all over and then exhaled, not taking his eyes off Henry but his leg shifted _just so_ until their toes were almost touching and she could feel the heat of him along her thigh and her shin and she _knew_.

_When I win your heart, Emma--and I will win it--_

If she let Killian Jones into her life, he would never leave her. She had a choice; she could choose to see the best in him.

 _It will be because you want me_.

She could let _him_ see the best in _her_.

And _then_ the fun could begin.


	4. the time he left her in a cell.

**The Time He Left Her In a Cell.**

Okay, _but_.

Hook had left her. He’d _left_ her, locked her in a cell and she could still hear the malice in his voice, the way it dripped from every letter, from every syllable. Emma closed her eyes and could hear it, the bite and the anger when he said, _The time for that is done._

When Emma looked into his eyes and understood exactly what her mistake might cost her.

 _Just as I am done with you_.

She rolled over, the sheet slipping away from her in the bed that wasn’t hers, sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, and waited. She waited for that feeling, that feeling in the pit of her stomach that always told her to run--but there was only the feeling she got when she thought she’d have to leave, like she was missing something. Home.

Emma got up from the bed and looked for her jeans on the floor, her jeans and her shirt and her underwear, and thought again about the qualities of a werewolf’s hearing because she was in one of the rooms at the B&B, the room that--apparently--Granny had given to Killian so he could “use the facilities” or whatever, like Emma even believed that.

Granny had a crush and Granny liked to look and Granny _totally_ had a plan and they had played right into it which was fine. Great, even. Orgasm(s) and Feelings and she had kissed him and she hadn’t made out with someone like that since--ever, _god_ , just lying there and feeling the other person against her as the kisses went from sweet to sexy and back again, her heart pounding as his eyelashes brushed against her cheeks and she felt the softness of his hair in her fingers.

Killian was gone but there was a note on the table with a little swan drawn at the top and the words _i’ll return soon, please stay as long as you like_ and a little hook drawn underneath and next to the note was a cup of coffee mixed with exactly the right sugar-to-coffee ratio and a generous splash of milk. It was still hot.

Neal had _never_ learned how she took her coffee.

Speak of the devil: Neal was in the diner, in a booth with their son and a plate of French fries between them. Emma watched them and couldn’t stop herself imagining the same scene playing out with Killian at the table, probably teaching Henry how to cheat at dice or poker or whatever games pirates played when they gambled. She couldn’t stop herself imagining another version of the scene, between Hook and Baelfire on the decks of the _Jolly Roger_ where he’d apparently _stayed for a time in Neverland_.

Teaching him to fight with a cutlass that sat in his cabin some two hundred years later.

Neither of them ever talked about it, but _Hook_ had taught Neal to sail and to play cards and to pick locks, never break in without a plan to break out and all of that; Hook had cared for him, maybe even loved him. Knew him well enough to decipher the drawings on the cave wall, port and starboard and a hook and an abandoned accounting of time when all hope was lost. Only that last one Killian _knew_ the same way Emma _knew_ , from painful personal experience. The look you get when you’ve been left alone.

They were--all of them-- _sentimental_ ; Killian with the cutlass and Baelfire with his scrawled memories and Emma with the weight of an old keychain around her neck like an albatross.

They were, all of them, Lost Ones.

Emma slid into the booth next to Henry and grabbed a fry. (Wondered if Killian knew she preferred onion rings.) Met Neal’s look as it shifted from a smile to something less pleasant--yes, Neal, _sex hair_ was a thing, too bad they so rarely got to do it in a real bed with so many orgasms; Emma smirked and raised her eyebrow.

Henry, smart kid that he was, excused himself to go to the counter and sit with Ruby, climbing over the divider in his haste to escape.

“Jesus, Em,” Neal muttered.

“Don’t be a dick, Neal,” Emma snapped.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, how about I just break into your room and--”

“I was right about her.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Neal said.

“None of this is okay,” Emma said. “You showing up here acting like Henry’s father--”

“I _am_ Henry’s father!”

“Do you even care _at all_ about me, what it’s like for me having you here, the mess it’s making with Regina--”

“So the Evil Queen gets a say?”

“She’s his mother,” Emma said, exasperated. “He loves her.”

“And Hook? You don’t know what I know about _him_.”

“So tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Neal ran his hand through his hair and looked around and said, “Emma, he killed my mother.”

Emma’s response was immediate. “No, he didn’t.”

“As good as--he might as well have torn her heart out himself!”

“Seriously?”

“He wanted to kill my father,” Neal said. “He tore my family apart.”

“Neal.” Emma tipped her head to the side. “You know that’s not true. Your family--they were a disaster. They _left_ you. Both of them. _You_ told me that.”

“So that’s how it is now,” Neal said. “A good screw and you’re just--”

“Fuck you, Neal.”

“--is that what _he_ told you, now you’re just making excuses for what he did, apologizing for him after--”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Emma, you know he tried to pull this with me the other day. He wanted to _talk_. About his regrets or some bullshit. _You know I wished we could have been a family, Bae_.” Neal rolled his eyes and suddenly Emma knew _exactly_ what happened.

Not on the _Jolly Roger_. Only Neal and Killian would ever truly know that, but--in the cells.

And, well, maybe on the _Jolly Roger_. Because this--this was what Neal did: he lashed out, he pushed, he blamed everyone but himself. It’s what _she_ did, too, and once upon a time it had been something they’d had in common, that fuck-the-world mentality.

And Killian--he’d pushed back. Let his anger overtake him, because that’s what he did, that’s how he _coped_ , how he covered up his hurt and his pride and _that_ ’s what she’d seen in his eyes when he’d looked at her all _just as I am done with you_.

Disappointment.

And it was so easy, wasn’t it, to play down to expectations; Hook left her because _she_ left him and now--

“Neal,” she said. “I can’t live in the past anymore.”

“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“No. I’m not.” Emma shrugged. “The time for that--it’s done. You know that. I _want_ to stop running.”

“You think Captain Hook is going to stay here, with you?”

She did. She _believed_.

The door opened and every head in the diner turned.

Not Emma’s. She didn’t look away from Neal, couldn’t, really, not before she said this: “No, Neal. I believe that _Killian Jones_ is going to stay here. With me.”

And _then_ she turned and the fry in her hand dropped onto the plate and her mouth fell open because _Killlian-fucking-Jones_ had just walked into the diner like he’d stepped off of the pages of, like, _GQ_ or something--in perfectly-fitted blue jeans and black boots and a red partially-unbuttoned Henley under a black vest and a black leather blazer.

A _leather blazer_.

And Emma didn’t miss the coat at all because--that view, it deserved to be on display. _Wow_. Did it ever. Granny was gonna break her neck, seriously.

Killian Jones walked in, not Captain Hook, and Tink trailed in behind him clutching a bag in her hand and looked around and saw Emma and winked and waved and gave her a smile, all, _It’s good, right_ and fuck, yeah. It _was_. Killian turned back to Tink and followed the direction she was looking and saw her with Neal and Emma didn’t even think.

She left the French fry on its plate and stood up and walked straight over to him and this part would get easier, right? They’d figure out the routine and the comfort level but right now she just wanted to touch him, to let him know that she was there.

She understood.

She’d _already_ known but now he was there in the clothes and she _understood_.

“Hello, beautiful,” she said and watched the smile blossom on his face.

Killian Jones was going to stay here. With her.


	5. milah.

_**(The time he could have killed her but didn’t; or, the Sword Fight)** _

Emma ran into David and he was sweaty and gross and in a tank top, which was--a sight.

Breathing heavily, too, and, ew--

“Dad,” Emma said. It wasn’t _tacos_ again, right?

Ew, ew, ew.

“Hey,” he said, his entire face smiling the way it always did whenever she called him ‘dad’.

“What are you--”

David looked down at himself as if he had just remembered where he was and what he was wearing and his eyes narrowed and Emma gulped because _hypocrisy_ alert, she had literally just walk-of-shamed it back to the loft _yesterday_ but then he smiled again, like the memory of it--the tacos, please god the tacos and not the walk of shame--was funny to him.

“I was just coming back from a bit of a sparring session with Hoo--with Killian,” he said.

“You look--”

“Yeah,” David said. “I know. Your boyfriend kicked my ass.”

“He _beat_ you?” Emma said, ignoring the word boyfriend, another uncomfortable word for the list.

“Literally, yeah,” David said. “Like I was standing still and not even trying.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “Right.”

“I guess he’s had a lot of time to practice.” David rolled his eyes but he was also grinning, like he’d had _fun_.

With _Killian_.

Only--

He was walking up the street just maybe fifty feet behind David as they spoke and he had a sword belted on over his jeans and it was just. _So much hotter_ than it had any right to be. David, her _father_ , watched her watch him, her--boyfriend?--watched Killian look at her, stare at her, really, both of them frozen where they were standing and he just shook his head and smiled and he might have said something but Emma didn’t hear it because she’d Realized.

God, she was such a freaking idiot sometimes.

Emma stood and waited for Killian, admiring his “good form” as he walked, the way he moved and the way he _looked_ when he moved in the clothes with the sword and the whole thing.

“‘Ello, love,” he said when he got close enough.

“So,” Emma said. “Is that going to be a thing, now? You and my dad, beating each other up?”

He smirked. “Not sure it’s a new thing, but he’s quite good for sparring.”

Emma looped her arm through his when he turned, offering it to her. His right sleeve was pushed up and she loved the way the bare skin of his arm felt against her. “But,” she said, “it’s a funny story, right? How, back at the lake, I beat you so easily? Even though you have centuries of practice?”

The ink on his forearm glittered in the sunlight-- _Milah_ \--even as Killian pulled her closer. He laughed--a small chuckle that Emma felt along her side where they touched. “What can I say?” he said. “I told you I could count the number of people who’ve bested me on one hand.”

**Milah.**

But--had she? Bested him?

Emma wasn’t sure. When it came down to it, Emma wasn’t sure of a lot of things--of him, of her, if they were doing this right--what they were doing at all.

 _True Love’s Kiss._ It could break any curse but it couldn’t solve any problems.

Such as:

Sometimes, Killian got quiet, his entire body still and the windows in his eyes closed.

And sometimes, Emma dreamed. Nightmares where he’d taken the bean--or he hadn’t come back--or he’d killed her. Nightmares where Cora killed him--or Pan did--where she hadn’t been able to save him at Dark Hollow.

And sometimes, it was still weird. It was _weird_ , okay?

Like, the lake thing. He’d _let_ her win. He’d _let_ her. Toyed with her, flirted with her, followed them to Storybrooke still hell-bent on his revenge for the time that her ex-boyfriend’s father had _killed_ \--

But at the moment where it had counted the _most_ he’d let her win. Given back Aurora’s heart and let her get away with the compass.

What did that mean?

(It meant something, right?)

 _Until I met you_.

He’d come _back_. Brought the bean. Saved her kid.

 _True. Love’s. Kiss_.

Sometimes he woke up trembling with a name on his lips and Emma wasn’t sure if it was hers or Milah’s. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t do the awkward exes chat or the funny get-to-know-you childhood stories. They knew each other too well for that already, but also--not well enough. They had so few happy stories between them and it was easier, most of the time, to just not tell stories at all, to trust that this was how they’d get to know each other, really--but there was still a lot Emma didn’t know and even more that Emma wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know and there was a _hell_ of a lot she didn’t especially feel ready to share about herself and the life she’d lived and the things she’d done.

WALLS. She had them. And it was hard to keep them lowered, to not rebuild them every time she felt him tense next to her, to not push him away every time he pulled her closer after a dream from which she woke up screaming.

Meanwhile.

His past was tattooed into his skin, his hook a daily reminder of loss and anger and hers was walking around Storybrooke every day with the way that his smile looked just like Henry’s.

Problem was--or at least, one of the problems--was that those pasts intersected.

And it was weird.

(It meant Emma needed a drink.)

(Or five.)

Ruby proclaimed a Girls’ Night because Belle needed--well, Belle needed time and company and probably a metric fuckton of therapy and didn’t all of them, really? But drinks were a good enough substitute in the interim and Emma let herself be dragged along, for Girls’ Night.

Like she had _friends_.

People to _talk to_.

 _Try something new, darling_.

Ruby, Belle, Tink and Emma Swan and she was tired and drunk and punchy when Tink mentioned, casually, that it didn’t need to be quite so obvious that Killian kept her up all night Emma couldn’t stop herself from saying, “You mean by calling out for his dead ex in his sleep? Yeah. It’s not fun for me, either.”

This wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t, it _wasn’t_ , except--

Except--

Emma wanted it to. She _wanted_ it. It was possible that Emma Swan had never wanted anything the way she wanted this, wanted him and the way that he watched her and smiled at her and touched her and fucked her and _loved_ her. He didn’t need her to be a Savior or a mother or a daughter, just to be a person who let him love her.

And Tink said, “Ah.”

She could barely stand to spend the night apart from him because when she woke up alone, she _missed him_. Tink’s eyebrow was raised and knowing and it was a goddamn _challenge_ , because Tink was one of those stories they never shared. But Tink’s smile was also inviting and friendly and--

“It’s all so much, Tink,” Emma said, crossing her arms on the table and resting her head on her arms, letting her cheek touch the cool wood. Someone’s hand grasped hers and _fuck it_ , Emma grasped back.

“It is, yeah,” Tink said.

“Also, be honest, Em--he’s not the only one screaming.” Ruby shrugged, which definitely answered the question about werewolves and hearing.

The hand holding hers pulled tighter and Belle-- _Belle_ \--said, “You two have a lot of darkness between you.” Emma opened one eye and looked at her. Remembered that Ki-- _Hook_ \--had _shot her_. And now Belle was in a bar, with her, watching Emma drink and complain about her love life with absolutely nothing but sympathy in her understanding brown eyes. Emma felt like she needed to say something, anything, to--

To--defend her _boyfriend’s_ honor?

“He’s not--” Emma tried, and stopped.

What was there to say?

Belle squeezed her hand again. Said, “No, he’s not.” Just like that. “He’s changed.”

“No.” Tink shook her head and picked up her shot glass and tossed it back like it was nothing. Which--maybe for a fairy, it was. Did fairies get drunk?

Emma sat up. _Mistake._

“He’s just finally letting himself be _himself_ again. A good man, with a lot of demons. And a _lot_ of darkness.” She slammed the glass onto the table for emphasis.

Belle looked thoughtful.

Emma sat back and crossed her arms.

“Well?” Ruby said. “Is she right?”

Emma shrugged. “Yeah--I mean, I think so.” She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face and rested her cheek against her palm. “He doesn’t--we don’t _talk_ about, you know. Stuff.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Emma snapped. “We get it. Super-hearing.”

But that was _also_ weird, actually. Not because Emma was such a font of conversation or whatever (Feelings, yadda yadda, she was bad at them) but because Killian had seemed so determined, back in Neverland at least, to wear her down with the sheer tonnage of his words. Emma sighed again and went back to the comforting coolness of the table.

 _Until I met you_.

“Ah,” Tink said again, rubbing her hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“It’s like he just shuts down,” Emma said.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Ruby muttered.

Emma winced. That was--accurate.

But Emma was _trying_ , trying harder than she ever had to be there. For him. With him.

 _I’ve yet to see you fail_.

“Well, yeah,” Tink said. “He’s got walls that are basically miles high. It was a long time before I learned he’d ever had a brother. And I’ve never heard him say Milah’s name.”

Honesty and Feelings and _when I win your heart, Emma_. Puking up all of that pain in the Echo Cave because he thought it _might_ help, about love and Milah and--

Everything just felt so-- _fragile_.

Like that first night and that first time when he’d--

And then he’d just--

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Emma groaned.

“Yes,” Tink said.

“I can’t fight against a ghost,” Emma said. “Not on top of everything else. And I--”

She loved him, was the problem.

She loved him and the way that he watched her and smiled at her and touched her and--

“Oh, Emma,” Tink said. “Don't you see? You’re not the one fighting against a ghost. _He_ is.”

Emma sat up again. Slowly, this time.

“You just have to let him let her go,” Tink said.


	6. true.  love's.  kiss.

_**True. Love's. Kiss.** _

But it wasn’t that easy.

It couldn’t be that easy.

Could it?

Emma walked from the bar to the B&B because--somehow--even with the ship right there, the _Jolly Roger_ , his home for centuries, he usually stayed in the room Granny had given him. He said he liked the indoor plumbing but--but--that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Killian opened the door before she even knocked.

“Hi,” she said.

The truth was, it was closer to her parents. To _Henry_. It was warmer when she got cold at night--easier to get coffee and pancakes in the morning--grilled cheese for dinner. He leaned his cheek against the door, his hand above his forehead. “Hello,” he said, and smiled. He really was unfairly good-looking with his stupid eyes and his stupid smile and how suddenly it didn’t seem so dark in the hallway of the B&B at 2am anymore. They did the thing--where they stared at each other, Emma drinking in the sight of his bare chest under his black bathrobe, the soft sweatpants--until, finally, he shifted his head and Emma took a goddamn breath and said, “We need to talk.”

Because this was it, this was the conversation they _hadn’t_ been having since the beginning--since the beanstalk, maybe--and everything that came next would stem from this, right here, right now.

Killian knew it, too; just for a second his face froze and his jaw muscle throbbed and then he moved his hand to the back of his neck and ran it through his hair. “Aye,” he said. “I suppose we do, at that.” He pulled the door the rest of the way open and Emma stepped over the threshold and grabbed him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until both of them were out of breath.

He laughed and it was shaky, _he_ was shaky as she pushed him farther into the room, walking backward until he backed up against the loveseat. Emma pressed on his shoulders and he sat down, obedient, watched her as she pulled at the sleeves of her jacket and let it fall to the floor, watched her as the put her hands to his chest and lowered herself so that she was on the seat with him, her knees bracketing his hops, one of his hands at her thigh and his hook flipping the hair away from her shoulder. She pushed the black bathrobe away from his bare chest, the foreheads touched and when their eyes met again there was a question in them and he kissed her--gently--softly--searching for answers.

When he finally pulled away, Emma touched her lips; her eyes never left his as her hand brushed against her wrist and the corded leather laces she wore there. “When I moved to Storybrooke,” she said, “of course I didn’t believe the stories Henry told, you know, princes and princesses and curses. But I also--I didn’t believe in much of anything. Happy endings. Love. _Myself_. And there was this guy, he--” Emma took a deep breath “--I think I could have, with him, you know? Felt something. For the first time since Neal left me.”

Killian’s hand moved to her temple as he caressed her cheek and she leaned into him.

“He left me in _prison_ , Killian. Pregnant. And I couldn’t be--I felt like the only thing I could do was give Henry up, give him his best chance. And I was broken. I was broken for a long time after that. When Graham-- _died_ \--I thought I would just be broken, you know, forever. It’s easier to feel nothing when what you’re feeling just plain _sucks_. And then I met you.”

His hand lowered.

“I hated you,” she said, and Killian laughed, a small thing that was barely a sound. “You were just so--” Emma made a face.

“You can say it,” he said. “Devilishly handsome.”

“That too,” she muttered. “But I felt _something_. Right from the start, even though all I could see were the reasons why _not_ until the curse came for us and I knew. I knew I couldn’t lose you. I _couldn’t_.” She ran her hand through his hair, rested her arm on his shoulder and stroked the back of his neck. “I love you.”

His intake of breath was sharp and audible, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

“I learned something a long time ago,” she continued. “That there’s this feeling you get, like, you just can’t outrun it, and that’s how you know you have a home. When you leave it, you just miss it. _That’s_ how I felt at the town line, Killian. I missed--” the pad of his thumb traced the crease under her eye, chasing a tear “--I missed _you_.”

His hand lowered slowly, back to her knee. His hook anchored against her hip when he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but I’m glad to you got your heart broken. That’s how you know it still works. And I knew, Swan--I knew since you left me on that beanstalk that I could--” she cupped his face with her hands “--and I hated you, too. For making me _feel_. I hadn’t felt anything in a very long time.”

Killian tried to look away, but Emma wouldn’t let him.

“I knew how I felt about you in Neverland,” he said. “Since--”

The Other Kiss.

“Or I thought I did,” he said. “But True Love is the rarest magic of all and I--”

“Shhh,” Emma said, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching again. Because--now, _now_ , they were on the same page.

“Sometimes I still doubt it,” he said. “That you’re here. That _we’re_ here.”

“I know it’s scary,” Emma said. “I’m still scared, too. Every day. But we’re going to find a way.”

This time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t soft _or_ gentle, as his mouth trailed down toward her collarbone, as his hand went to the curve of her breast before tracing a line down the length of her middle, his hook cool and smooth as it slid under the hem of her shirt.

“You believe in me,” she said, a whisper into his skin. An exhalation, a release of tension and fear and doubt, and when she breathed again it was full of him, of the scent of him and the nearness of him.

“And you give me hope,” he said, twisting his body and hers so that she was on her back on the loveseat, their bodies flush from her chest to her knees. Emma closed her eyes, letting the moment fill her, letting everything else disappear--let it all fall away except him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he said, “How about we try for some _real_ magic?”

When he touched her and Emma felt the magic there, white-hot silver in her veins, she let it envelop her, envelop _them_ ; opened her eyes and felt his chuckle as he reached for her, helping her pull off her shirt as the weight of him sank into the mattress. His arms wrapped around her and he was insatiable, all of the hunger of that first burning kiss blazing back to life in the darkness as if he could swallow her whole. Emma pulled off her tank top and his eyes glittered, a wicked gleam as he watched her, followed her hands as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid out of them.

They were together, completely, and with the friction between them Emma could feel the last knot of loneliness releasing, coming loose as he watched her; he fucked her with his hand and his mouth and his _eyes_ , watched her and called for her until she shattered and came and came and came and his name was on her hips as he made love to her and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

And it was just--so _easy_.

Like home.

\--

“For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation. I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other. This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love: the more they give, the more they possess.”

Rainer Maria Rilke _Letters to a Young Poet_

**Author's Note:**

> this work is a continuation of one of my [august writing prompts.](https://ohmightydevviepuu.tumblr.com/post/627381504402767872/writers-month-prompts) you can find the entire collection here on AO3 under the title 'the words' 💕


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